Come Away With Me. Sara MacDonald

Чтение книги онлайн.

       EIGHTEEN

      Danielle rang Flo from Birmingham. ‘Is Jenny home?’

      ‘No, she isn’t,’ Flo said, her heart sinking.

      ‘There is no sign of her here. She still is not answering her mobile phone. I have even been out to Ruth’s house. They have all gone away for a break. Her cleaner told me that Jenny was going to stay on one more night in the house after the family left and then she was returning to London. Neither of the buyers at Mason’s or Simpson’s has seen her.’

      ‘Why on earth hasn’t she rung us? Maybe she’s on her way home now.’

      ‘Maybe. But Flo, I don’t like it. Jenny always lets us know where she is.’

      Flo sat down heavily. ‘Oh dear. I wonder if she could have suddenly decided to go home to Cornwall, to Bea and James.’

      ‘She would have rung and let us know.’

      ‘Not if she isn’t thinking straight. Not if it’s all caught up with her. I must ring James and Bea. I don’t want to worry them unnecessarily, but it’s been forty-eight hours now since we heard anything. Danielle, come home, there is nothing more you can do in Birmingham.’

      ‘Ruth’s cleaner told me that Ruth has no phone in the Cornish cottage and there is no reception on her mobile there so we cannot contact her.’

      ‘You’ve done all you can, dear. Come back to London now. I’ll see you tonight.’

      Flo replaced the receiver. She wanted to believe that Jenny had suddenly made for home on a whim, as a child does, seeking comfort. She got up awkwardly, a pain shooting up her left leg, went to the landing window and picked up the vase of dead snowdrops that depressed her and threw them away. Nothing could account for this silence. Something was wrong. Flo dialled the Browns’ number.

      James took the call. He realised as he listened to Flo that he had been half expecting something like this to happen.

      ‘How odd that Jenny and Ruth should meet up after all this time on a train. If it’s the same cottage, Flo, I know it well. I’ll drive over to St Minyon now. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ruth and Jenny were together. They were extremely close as children. If she isn’t there and Ruth doesn’t know where she is, then I think we might have to do something about it.’

      ‘I’m worried she might be having some sort of breakdown.’

      There was a silence, then James said gently, ‘Yes. It is possible. Try not to get too anxious. I’ll ring you back as soon I can.’

      James revved his old car and drove up the hill out of St Ives. It was the most glorious day and the bay below him glittered in sunlight. How often he had sailed with the children out of the harbour and Jenny, the youngest little afterthought, who seemed to have been born happy, would laugh with excitement: I love the sea, Dad, I love the sea. Oh! There’s nowhere in the whole world as lovely as this, is there?

      Bea used to say Jenny had been born joyful. James sighed.

      The joy had been snatched away so early in her adult life. Uneasily, he remembered their conversation last Christmas after Tom was killed.

      Jenny had travelled down with Flo on the train. The house was bursting with her sisters and their children. Both he and Bea had thought it was what Jenny needed: a time in the centre of her family where she could have all their support and love.

      It was a mistake. It had cruelly highlighted the fact that her sisters still had husbands and children, the people they loved. It isolated her, made her anxious that they should not feel guilty. Everyone had subconsciously tiptoed round her as if she had an illness.

      Jenny had taken herself off for long walks, getting up early to avoid anyone offering to go with her. She skirted the windy winter town or roamed the cliffs towards Zennor. She sat in her old duffel coat in the shelter of the rocks watching the surfers; spent hours in the tiny Barbara Hepworth museum sitting in the cold but peaceful garden.

      On Christmas Eve James had accompanied her on the cliff path to Lelant. They had taken binoculars to watch the birds on the estuary. It was a walk they used to do when she was a child. They would often set off to catch the little singletrack train that ploughed between St Ives and the Saltings.

      That day, as they walked on the long stretch of beach at Porth Kidney, the wind had buffeted them nearly off their feet. Seagulls screamed and wheeled around them, and the wind was so cold it snatched their breath away. Jenny had marched beside him, loving it, James knew, because the discomfort made her concentrate on that and not on the icy place within her.

      He had reached out to take her hand and said, his words torn and snatched by that irritating wind, ‘I feel so helpless. I want to do something to make you feel better and I’m powerless. I can do nothing.’

      Jenny had turned to him, trying to smile. ‘You’re here, Dad. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying so hard not to depress everyone, especially the children. It’s not fair on them. I would have been better working over Christmas, but I knew Bea would have a fit if I stayed in London. Really, it would be better if I got back home as soon as possible. Without my work I’ve got nothing. When I’m working I can just think about Tom and the things we used to do together, Tom and me. It’s all I want, Dad. It’s all I want. I’m trying to be jolly, but I can’t.’

      ‘Of course you can’t, darling, and no one expects it. If it’s what you want I’ll drive you back straight after Christmas. But you have to face the future, not just dwell on the past. I’m concerned about your health. You’re not eating or sleeping, and it’s getting painful to look at you. I hear you roaming about the house at night. Will you let me give you some vitamin injections to build you up and something to help you sleep, just for a while?’

      They were moving up into the sand dunes to get out of the wind and Jenny turned to him. ‘Yes. OK. But don’t let me take any sleeping pills back to СКАЧАТЬ